My review: DEAR DEER – We Can play in a living room

DEAR DEER – We can play in a living room

Madness. Violated cavities. Macrobiotic sounds. Pure poisons in a voluminous presence. Stratosphere pierced by essential and bombing impulses.

The French duo DEAR DEER goes mad, ungovernable, in these 16 tracks live, with majestic power sticking to the ankles, biting between crazy sounds, acidly electronic melodies, full of toxicity that makes us slaves to their compositions.

If you want to be slaves to the pleasure of wandering through their rooms and bring them into yours be careful: the boundaries will be violated forever because their evocative power can not know adequate resistance.

The two are creators of hypnotic and invasive sketches, carriers of tension and intense textures breaking the walls.

Cover yourselves, be bomb shelters but know this: it won’t be enough.

Let’s go now to hit our future destroyed defenses, let’s get into their electronic cannibalism.


Fire in the hole, the gloomy dance rises and we are already moving bodies, we start from the living room, and we are dogs barking at fear.


Glacial atmosphere at the beginning, industrial and synth-punk changing our features, sound obsession, a bastard mantra and disunited bodies. Frederick and Sabatel shatter us.


Synth-punk and Post-punk reporting for duty, everything comes to devastate us with an electric dance.


We are in the kitchen, among vegetables cut to pieces by an acid electronica, seductive and murderous keyboards, a drumming completes the beginning of a new room that will blow up. Both sing and everything becomes even more compact.


They laugh at first: blessed wickedness, they can afford it! A bass like a hallucinogenic mushroom anticipates the two beings busy in singing like bloodless claws.


Noise and electro-dark are mixed in the kitchen now similar to a battlefield.

They prepare a musical menu that looks towards the bloodiest electronic France.


And we’re at the song of the final destruction, if you ever had doubts: madness, cruelty, wickedness hidden by keyboards clearly mocking us. Sublime!


Last stop in the kitchen and we are reached by a petrified new wave, immersed in a synth-wave loaded with anything but blanks … TNT between our ears, a drumming starting dark by muffled beats and voices getting sick. Echoes of Virgin Prunes in their psalmody.


Now confused, stunned, not knowing how, we’re in the Dining Room. Other than Christmas: we are in hell, preceded by a beginning reminding us of the EINSTURZENDE NEUBAUTEN and then greeting CABARET VOLTAIRE. Infinite hypnosis.


Guitars and bass show up for a few seconds and then we take off, seduced and mistreated by crooked and evil sounds, another masterpiece hammers our skull, we are defenseless.


How wild and beautiful is the confusion? Another track stunning us, an imperial drum machine, a chemical and steel guitar catches our stomach, Arab echoes to make us feel elsewhere and confused.


Maybe is this the Holy Grail? The most desecrating and compact moment, a bastard guitar beating our ears, hysterical, uncontrollable, in a killer rhythm.


Last stop, we’re in the bathroom.

The album is nearing its end with claustrophobia and gin and tonic.

The whip hits us in the bathtub, we are motionless and bleeding, the voices become more distant and cursed. She is still laughing, but then she gets excited in a repetitive and hysterical singing. PERFECTION ATTAINED!


It starts as Coldwave but then remove any doubt and becomes wickedness: electro synth-punk suturing us, but there’s nothing to do, bleeding, we die dancing in the most celestial cacophony.


All right, we accept it: we die in the bathroom under the blows of a song with an almost pop approach, amazing, surprising, but with an electronica hitting us on the hips.


Last torture: lifeless, dazed, shattered, the duo gives us the last blow of their saber, shamelessly, electric obscenity, they play their biggest and last card, a simple but heavy bass, a sneaky keyboard anticipates another one that smashes the mirror and the tub, it’s the final delirium: dead in happiness.

Alex Dematteis

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